


The ones that seek and find

by Pistol



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:16:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22061944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pistol/pseuds/Pistol
Summary: Lydia at fourteen is strawberry blonde hair, knobby knees, and a barely contained fury that captures Stiles' attention and manages to hold it.
Relationships: Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to verstehen1 who beta'd this for me.  
She's amazing and her posts on tumblr pretty much inspired this whole series.

When Stiles' father sends a subspace com out of the blue to congratulate him with news of his admittance into the Academy's entrance competition exams it's a bit of a surprise, to say the least.

The hazy memories of his Academy-centric vid marathon last month, the crate of Klingon energy drinks, and a half remembered test seems like one of those things best kept to himself. _Especially_ if it gets him out of H'ris' classroom and into someplace with better teachers and looser restrictions on their replicators.

+

The first time Stiles meets Lydia they're still children, drowning in standard issue uniforms and clutching their duffle bags with white knuckles. No amount of tugging at fabric or perfect posture can hide the fact that their clothing was meant for someone much older than them. Someone like the thousands of candidates who surround them.

Around them the crowd mills in quiet circles, stopping only to glance at name badges and to make awkward conversation they everyone involved couldn't really care less about. Occasionally there's a shout - someone finding a familiar face. Even then, the excitement and surprise is often quickly muted as both parties smile and continue their wandering. Sometimes, measuring gazes are exchanged, and occasionally they result in tiny clusters of people who stop wandering long enough to speak in hushed voices and ignore everyone else around them.

It's not cruelty, not matter how it feels, Stiles knows this. It's practicality. Everyone in the room is hungry for a spot in Starfleet's academy - and getting this far in the application really only means that the couple thousands of people crammed into the hanger have all meet the basic intelligence and health requirements for their species. There's _maybe_ three hundred openings at the academy this year so friendship means nothing but temporary allies could be worth their weight in latinum.

The curious glances Stiles occasionally gets sent always end up focused on his name badge before moving on. The not-always-silent assumption of _nepotism_ coming out loud and clear.

Across the room, Stiles watches as L. Martin receives the same treatment. Amidst the looks and whispers as more and more clusters begin to form it's almost impossible for them _not_ to drift into each other's orbit - if only for relief.

"I earned my place here," Lydia tells Stiles before he can even start the stuttering introduction he'd been rehearsing in his head. She has steely eyes and holds herself like she's expecting a fight.

Lydia at fourteen is strawberry blonde hair, knobby knees, and a barely contained fury that captures Stiles' attention and manages to hold it.

+

Of twelve-thousand plus candidates trying out for the Academy spots eight-thousand have washed out by the time they reach _the_ Psych Test.

It's rumored that a hundred more candidates drop out rather than try their luck at it.

+

The rumors, it turns out, actually played _down_ the Psych Test of their evaluation. It is without a doubt the most confusing week of Stiles' life.

Considering his mother, that's saying something.

Around him the walls keep moving, the sterile air of the holodeck too dry for comfort, and Stiles starts to hum softly to himself as he moves towards whatever is waiting for him.

+

When Stiles finally let out of the holodeck he'd spent the better part of a week locked inside he's given an unexplained hypo to the neck and is guided to a shuttle with blacked out port windows. It looks a lot like the one that had originally brought him wherever the hell he is now.

When his guide/captor/hypo-giver tells him he's passed before pushing him forward Stiles doesn't really believe it. It wouldn't be the first test he's stumbled into a test that was disguised as something innocuous.

It doesn't matter though; he's too worn out to do more than chatter idly at his guide until she abandons him at the door of the shuttle.

Inside there are five people, including Lydia, all who manage to look like Stiles feels. When he slips into the seat next to Lydia on a whim she doesn't fight him on it, doesn't even bother to look at him. They sit there in mostly comfortable silence until three more people - apparently the final three - are brought on board and the walls start to hum with the pre-flight check of the inertial dampeners.

The shuttle had been packed when they came here here but is less than a sixth full when they leave.

"They said I passed," Lydia tells him in a hollow voice once they clear the atmosphere and the vibrations of the hull smooth out. _I don't know if I believe it_ she doesn't say, but Stiles hears it easily enough in her tense shoulders and shifting eyes.

"Yeah, me too."

Lydia says nothing, still staring off into nothing. Of all the people in the shuttle, she currently looks the least likely to start screaming or crying. She's terrified, sure, but she's beautiful in the same way Stiles' mother was - like you could throw her into a sun and she'd come out of it untouched just to spite you.

"I'll take first watch?" Stiles offers.

A clammy hand finds its way into his, squeezing lightly in response. She leaves her hand in his.

"Wake me in ten."

Stiles wakes her after twenty minutes pass and he isn't all that surprised when she wakes him up after twenty-five.

+

Lydia sits with him in the chow hall after that. Some days she acts like he isn't there, other days she doesn't bother with the facade and vents to him about the stupidity she feels she's surrounded by.

Stiles likes those days the best.

+

"What the hell is _Cochrane's factor_?" Lydia mutters to herself, squinting in confusion at her PADD.

Stiles continues pushing his food around his plate in the hopes it might turn into something more palatable. "It's added as a multiplier to the basic warp formula. I think it's based off the amount of curvature of the space the ship is traveling thr-" he cuts himself off the moment he realizes what he's said, but it's already too late. Lydia has gone still, her attention focused on him with an intensity that makes Stiles tempted to flee.

"_You_ know what Cochrane's factor is? My _PADD_ doesn't even know what Cochrane's factor is."

Stiles shrugs, hoping to appear unconcerned. "My dad had some stuff about it on his computer," the lie comes out easily enough - after all, lies come as easy as breathing to Stilinskis.

Three tables away from them Stiles can't help but notice a Bolian female smirking over at him. She's unnaturally silent for a Bolian considering the heated debate going on at her table and Stiles finds himself frowning as he tries to remember if there's any Bolian candidates in their scheduled meal time-

"Really?" Lydia interrupts his thoughts with a raised an eyebrow, "And he just _showed_ you it?"

"Not exactly," he glances over to the Bolian's table, her seat now vacant. "It was information he'd probably vent me into space if he knew I'd seen it?"

Lydia makes a considering sound but seems willing to let it go, _for now_ her eyebrows imply in a way that only Lydia is capable of. Stiles sags into his seat with relief.

"Yeah, I imagine the Federation would be a _little_ upset to know someone like you knew heavily guarded secrets of light-speed breakaway factor." Her eyes are bright with curiosity but there's a pride in Lydia that Stiles knows will prevent her from asking for more information without anything to offer in return.

There's an awkward moment of silence between them before Stiles impulsively leans forward, lowering his voice to a whisper. "So I guess that means you _aren't_ interested in what I know about artificially-created time warps?"

Lydia narrows her eyes, her glare betrayed by the sly grin playing on her lips. "Stiles, I'm starting to think we're going to get along just _fine_."


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles should have known better.

He really, _really_ should have.

In the end it doesn't matter that he and Lydia have spent the last three months sweating, testing, and fighting alongside the other applicants. When the names of those who snagged a Cadet spot are announced, it's just like the first day in the hanger. It's not terrible or unbearable- Stiles isn't shoved into any walls, there aren't mutters behind his back, and no one brings up the news that his dad was recently awarded the newest ship in the fleet like they're implying something. Instead, there's a careful two feet of space around him at all times and overly polite nods from the other new cadets who go around slapping each other on the back in congratulations.

Across the room Lydia is smiling her ice queen smile as she exchanges polite nods. In reflection, Stiles thinks that maybe Lydia had known all along that they would still be carrying targets on their backs.

She's the one who finds him in the crowd this time, her own bubble of space making it all too easy to maneuver next to him while acting like she has no idea he's there. Stiles isn't stupid enough to claim to understand Lydia but he understands enough not to take offense.

"Congratulations," he tells her, because no one in the room has said it to him so he's pretty sure no one's said it to her. The hungry look that flickers briefly in her eyes as she scans the crowd confirms it.

Next to them a group of new cadets are gleefully planning their night, talking about which party invitations to accept and which ones aren't worth attending. There's talk of Romulan ale and dancing that makes Stiles' plans of packing up his childhood room while watching holo-vids seem lacking.

Lydia's hand finds his, less clammy than before, but the touch is shorter lived as they're both painfully aware of all the eyes that are trying to not look like they're watching them.

"Do you like twentieth century media?" Stiles asks before he can think better of it.

Lydia scoffs, "Every time I see one of their films I'm honestly baffled as to how anyone managed to survive that century."

It's not a yes, but it's also not a no. Stiles has done more with less. "I've got access to a library with over thirty-thousand films and my dad just ordered a new replicator - top of the line."

Lydia frowns, considering Stiles before nodding. "I guess packing can wait for a while."

+

"Do you see him much?" Lydia asks, breaking the mostly-easy silence that fell as they started browse the replicator menu.

Stiles looks pointedly around the apartment, lingering over the empty walls and the living area that's couch and chairs were shoved into the corner to make room for the piles of uniforms, PADDs, and the mattress that'd been drug out in front of the vid station. "He was already the second in command of the Zefram Mark Two by the time I was born."

"Yeah," Lydia leans back against the counter, turning her nose up at the layer of dust that clings to her uniform. "Suddenly I'm feeling grateful that at least mother dearest bothered to buy me a cleaner-bot."

+

After four movies and more food than is strictly necessary for humanoids Lydia declares that she's too tired for public transportation and is spending the night. She claims his dad's room, replicating new sheets to replace the musty ones that probably hadn't been used since the day his father brought the bed home four years ago. Stiles leans against the door frame as she sonics her teeth and wonders when their not-quite-a-friendship-but-maybe-an-understandingship moved from a silent shuttle ride to this.

"Do you need to call anyone? Let them know you haven't perished in an honor duel with a Klingon?"

Lydia rolls her eyes, "I'm sure the cleaner-bot will worry itself sick."

+

"Why are you doing this?"

Stiles frowns down at the shirts in his hands before giving up and shoving both into his duffle bag before looking up. "Would you believe me if I told you it was because I'd managed to get the replicators at school to make Klingon energy drinks and then decided to drink them all and watch a bunch of vids about the Academy?"

Lydia considers him with narrowed eyes, "Sadly, I would."

"You?"

"I'd worked very hard to stay under the radar for the most part of my life," Lydia says. "And then some idiot went and cheated on his aptitude tests which lead to the school secretly bringing in telepathic advisors for the re-testing." She purses her lips in distaste, "It was really very unfortunate."

Stiles blinks, "Wait, are you saying you got caught pretending to be _vapid_?"

"Basically."

"_Why-_"

"Because I _could_." Lydia smirks, "because no one expects anything from a girl who only cares about the latest style of shoes from the Delta Quadrant."

Stiles pulls a face, "So they made you join Starfleet?"

"Oh, god, _no_. I applied because I had to be good and being good is boring when I could be _great_."

He hums, "You're a scary person, Lydia. Do you know that?"

Lydia laughs, "You have _no_ idea."

+

Academy life is nothing like the big Bollywood vids make it out to be. There aren't copious amounts of Orion women who want you to introduce them to Earth's sexual culture, no endless supply of political scandals from other worlds to stumble upon, and certainly no wacky dormitory prank wars. Instead there's Orion women working their asses off to be treated the same as everyone else, tiny dorm rooms that make all the innocent and not-so-innocent cultural taboos feel twice as potent for every species involved, and endless classes that seem to drain the life and free time from every cadet.

Stiles doesn't make friends, but he doesn't feel too bad about it when the other first years seem be doing exactly what he is - spending all their free time with their PADDs.

+

While neither of them really need it, around the halfway point of their first year Lydia is the one who breaks their awkward dance in the hallways and lecture halls to suggest that they study together.

It's surprising - but at the same time, not. They aren't friends but they're still something. Something that comes from well-known last names that more often than not leave them sitting alone and picked last while simultaneously being treated with overly-polite difference by everyone from classmates to instructors.

"I need to talk to someone who doesn't think I'm riding my parents’ coattails." Lydia pauses, her lips pursing in irritation. "Or who someone who thinks they can enhance their career by kissing my ass."

Stiles shrugs, trying to play down his excitement. He's pretty sure it doesn't work so he simply goes with: "My dorm or yours?"

+

Stiles knows he talks too much and too fast the first day they meet up, but he also notices the way Lydia's shoulders seem to slowly thaw the longer he talks. He's clearly not the only one starved for social interaction and it's easy enough to turn one study meeting into both of them tucked away in a corner of the library once a week while Lydia lectures Stiles on what he needs to know about inverse warp fields for his Plasma Physics class while she gratefully eats up his rambles about the finer points that Professor Kim's lectures on Intersystem Peacekeeping Operations 101 left out.

When Stiles starts to feel like he's drowning in a panic over their statistical mechanics midterm and Lydia starts to develop a twitch whenever quantum chemistry is mentioned they both agree to change their meetings to twice a week. Around that time Lydia stars bringing lunch for both of them and once a week Stiles insists they sneak off campus to go to that Vulcan cafe where no one recognizes them or the names on their chit cards.

Despite the anonymity in the corner booth that has become _theirs_ Stiles still never talks about how much he misses his dad and Lydia doesn't mention her own parents.

They stick to safe topics - classes, students, and roommates.

Stiles starts to suspect that there are detailed plans of Lydia's roommates' demise floating around in her head.

+

"Do you ever regret it?" Stiles asks after a particularly long day. The only words they'd spoken so far have been their food orders and while it's not an uncomfortable silence Stiles needs _more_ today.

"I…" Lydia, still too fresh from defending herself from allegations of cheating doesn't seem to have the energy to attempt her normal mask of flawless Amazonian prowess. Under the cafe's artificial light she looks almost sickly pale, small in a way her five foot two frame normally never is thanks to the presence Lydia wears like a suit of armor. After a moment of chewing on her lip she straightens in her seat, a rally that Stiles so badly needed to see.

"Never," she smiles, her whole body transforming to match the confidence in her words, "besides, I'm going to have fun destroying every single one of them."


	3. Chapter 3

In their second year Lydia meets Jackson, who a first year who happens to unsurprisingly be three years older than both of them. He's the child of an admiral just like them- but he's slippery and dead eyed in ways Stiles doesn't trust. Lydia doesn't seem to notice.

"He understands me," she tells Stiles with a soft smile. "He knows what it's like."

_No,_ Stiles wants to say, _I understand you_. The words get lost in his throat the same way the words about seeing Jackson paying off his roommate to _fix_ his grades did weeks ago.

"He's so handsome," Lydia gushes as she triple checks her reflection in the mirror. Somewhere during their first year her knobby knees had disappeared, leaving behind a gorgeous woman that Stiles knows he can't- not for lack of trying- hold in the palm of his hands and keep safe.

"He's not who you think he is," he says hoping she'll listen just _once._

She scoffs, "Stiles, you don't know what you're talking about. Jackson says you're just jealous."

Stiles is, but more than that he's angry because he knows where this is headed. He _knows_ people like Jackson, knows how easy it is for them to throw others under the bus to save himself.

They don't talk much after that.

+

Jackson falls under allegations of cheating within a six months and once those allegations are proven Lydia's name is dragged through the mud along with his. She's guilty by association and good grades and convicted by the rumor mill but not the academy.

Jackson leaves quietly - disappearing into thin air as soon as the judgement comes down but rumors of his family's efforts to keep the whole mess quiet echo on every corner of campus. Stories about Lydia never far behind.

Stiles tunes the stories out when he can, commits a minor felony or two that hopefully will never be traced back to him when he can't ignore them, and after a week he steps foot into his favorite Vulcan cafe for first time in almost a year. He orders two meals to-go.

+

"This is some kind of pity party, isn't it?" Lydia accuses with narrowed eyes when he shows up at her table, "Or have you come to try your luck and see just how low my self-esteem has gotten?" Her words drip with venom and Stiles just barely resists flinching.

"This was more a 'hey, you seem like you need a friend' thing, but if you're too busy being a macrohead, I'd be more than happy to leave you to your own little pity party." Stiles reaches out to snatch back the paper take out box he'd placed in from of her and is stopped when her hand darts out and curls around his wrist. He raises an eyebrow in question.

"Look, I-"

"Was a really shitty friend?"

Lydia drops his wrist, "I'm trying to apologize here!"

"Not very hard," Stiles points out with more anger than he realized he carried.

"Hey, you weren't exactly friend of the year either, Stilinski. You did _nothing_ but belittle my feelings and try to control my choices from the moment I met him."

Stiles throws his hands up in exacerbation, "He was bad for you and you couldn't _see_ it!"

"I know, but at the time _I_ wasn't ready to see it." Lydia's voice softens, but retains its sharp edge. "You don't get to protect me from the world, Stiles. There are choices I need to make for myself. _Mistakes_ that I need to make for myself, even if I don't meet your expectations while making them."

Stiles clenches his jaw, staring down at the to-go box clenched too tightly in between his hands. "I should -"

"Sit," she orders, leaving no room for argument, "and learn from this. Just like I am."

Stiles sits.

+

There are rough patches for a while, stretching out between them like the dangerous depths of the badlands. There are too many arguments they aren't quite done having and wounded egos they try too hard to hide, but somehow they end their second year as friends once more.

Better ones, Stiles points out after post-finals whiskey - the real stuff, non-synthetic - more aware that the other person is just as fucked up and flawed as they are.

+

By the middle of their third year Stiles gets to the point where he's debating jumping from the shuttle bay instead of showing up for Advanced Phonology and Lydia is making a Pros/Cons list in the margins of her PADD of reasons why she might join him if it means not having to attend her own classes.

In the end the cons win and Lydia disappears in a flourish of red hair only to reappear half an hour later dangling a set of metal keys. She grabs Stiles' shirt and forcibly leads him to a strange looking car - one with an actual _wheels_ and a _pre-solar_ engine of all things - that is parked very illegally outside of the library where two engineering track cadets weep and wax poetic about it.

Lydia shoves them both aside, tossing the keys at Stiles who quickly becomes the focus of the engineering cadet's attention. It's not a good feeling.

"I need a beach day but I don't like dealing with traffic," Lydia tells him, sliding into the passenger seat primly.

+

They don't breathe a word about the Academy by an unspoken agreement and spend their day on the beach eating street food and taking turns giving tourists purposefully butchered directions before collapsing on the sand. Lydia uses her finger to write out the formula to find the safe zone of a neutronic storm around where Stiles lays in the sand and Stiles tries to compose poetry about her hair in Cardassian, stumbling over the language's lack of participles until Lydia dumps a handful of sand in his mouth to shut him up. He sticks with dirty limericks in Klingonese that make Lydia laugh in the setting sun.

+

"We can't burn out," she tells him on the drive back, "we're too good for that."

+

That night Stiles dreams of sounds and colors he knows he shouldn't be able to comprehend. The song he hears should crush his mind and the things he sees should tear apart his skin, but instead it feels... _safe._

Comforting, even.

+

They start to meet five times a week after their beach trip. Stiles cooks on Mondays and Wednesdays and Lydia shows up with takeout on Fridays and Saturdays. On Sundays they tend to live off the vending machines or venture out to the Vulcan cafe _if_ they remember to eat. Both of their roommates begin to ignore the presence of their new unofficial roomies.

It gets to the point that it's not uncommon for Stiles to find Lydia already in his room in sweats, sprawled on his floor chewing on the foul smelling dehydrated Klingon rations she secretly loves.

"Who are you and what happened to the girl who smelled like vanilla and had me convinced she was the only human to live who never farted?"

Lydia belches in his general direction, still absently clicking away at her PADD.


	4. Chapter 4

Lydia choses High Orion as her third year language because it's the only evening language class offered and she's never been a fan of mornings. She ends up taking to the language like she never had with Vulcan or Klingonese. It gets to the point that Stiles finds himself applying for late entrance into a High Orion class after weeks of Lydia refusing to translate the new musical language that has been steadily creeping into her everyday speech.

It's simple enough to see why she loves the language after only a few classes, it's easily as complex and as beautiful as Lydia is. In High Orion there are no simple answers, no words for _yes_ or _no_, only endless double meanings that dance around the truth and dare you suss out their meaning.

Debating with Lydia in High Orion turns out to be one of the most vicious and satisfying things Stiles has ever taken part in.

+

Over replicated chow-mien and an endless stack of PADDs that they haven't even _begun_ looking over Lydia has their first mini meltdown of the semester over the approaching finals. Stiles joins in on the breakdown, grateful to not be alone under what feels like the gravity of an M class planet.

They kick it off with Stiles throwing a PADD across the room and end it with Lydia sliding onto his lap. Between the stress and their frantic rush to undress they don't bother doing a sexual health scan or replicating a birth control hypo.

They're smarter than that, Stiles knows, but somehow they're _not_.

+

In the morning Lydia is gone, leaving only a broken PADD and a memory that feels like a fever dream.

All of Stiles' coms go straight to her voicemail.

+

"Lydia," he begs her voicemail on the third day, "talk to me, _please_."

+

For three weeks Stiles leaves unanswered messages and replays that night in his head while he counts his sins - both imagined and not. In-between bouts of self-flagellation he studies and perfects an apology that he's worried he'll never get a chance to give.

He catches glimpses of her from time to time on campus and sometimes she sees him too. On the worst days she smiles at him out of habit just before her face closes off and she turns away.

+

Lydia's first contact with him comes in the form of a SMS during class.

_The medical replicator in my dorms has apparently been malfunctioning which means my emergency contraceptive hypo might have been defective. I have an appointment in the medical department tonight._

She doesn't reply to any of Stiles' coms, SMSs, or even him pounding on her dorm's door during his lunch period in a panic he can't quite explain. When he's frantic enough to start debating overriding the security panel on her door his PADD chirps at his as she finally replies.

_Meet me at the fountain after classes and stop pissing off my neighbors._

+

Stiles cuts the rest of his classes and spends the day replicating fizzy Klingon energy drinks as he wanders blindly around the San Francisco. A cheerful Ferengi manages to lure him into his store after Stiles' fourth drink and talks him into buying a tiny gold ring centered with a Bajoran cut gem.

_She'll love it,_ the clerk promises Stiles. _All will be forgiven._

By the time Stiles is at the fountain he's running solely on adrenaline, stress, and the Klingon energy drinks. And because Stiles has never been able to make good decisions on Klingon energy supplements he ends up proposing the moment he sees Lydia. It's like a moment out of a bad 20th century vid, complete with Stiles one one knee as half of their classmates try desperately to look anywhere but at them while the other half study them like their interaction will be included on their Sol Inhabitants test.

Lydia shows the softer side of herself that she normally keeps well hidden, and turns Stiles down gently.

However, by Stiles' sixth argument in favor of his proposal they've escalated to Lydia holding him underwater in the fountain and screaming about how she's not with child and also not about to get married to a child like him.

He gets it, finally, but that's also when security shows up and Lydia cold cocks the first officer who tries to grab her, because today is apparently going in that direction. Giving into the inevitable Stiles shakes the water out of his eyes and bites into the arm of the man who tries to restrain Lydia while she drives her undoubtedly expensive shoe into the howling officer's crotch.

It's fair to say they're both a little stressed and not operating at their best.

+

Campus security ends up sedating them both, and after a hefty fine and a permanent write up in their records they're both made to spend the night in the tiny containment cells on campus and their school calendars are both updated to reflect the days and hours that they'll be expected to attend 'Stress and You' counseling. The intake officer looks bored with them both and Stiles is tempted to figure out if this is because the officer witnesses their type of shenanigans regularly but he's too eager to start sleeping off his energy drink buzz and Lydia's attempted drowning to care.

Turns out that the beds in the brig are surprisingly comfortable.

+

Stiles feels _almost_ human by the time their intake officer wakes them up and kicks them out. Lydia must be feeling better as well because she finds it in her to forgive him after the appropriate amount of groveling and promises of breakfast.

They celebrate their only incredibly awkward return to friendship by kicking Greenberg out of Stiles' room and sleeping for a solid twenty hours on a dorm room mattress that's barely large enough for one humanoid, let alone two.

While they sleep, Lydia's hand finds its way to Stiles' shirt where she holds on to the fabric like she's scared someone will tear him away from her. Stiles doesn't mention it.

+

The vid of their night at the fountain goes viral enough that their argument ends up translated into over 30 languages. Starfleet ends up embracing the vid, using it to encourage cadets to do bio-scans before sexual adventures and to embrace the various support systems they have in place.

Stiles doesn't mention the sub-space priority com he got from his dad and if Lydia got one from her parents it doesn't come up either.

+

"I'm too young and too pretty to live like this," Lydia moans into her redspice chicken. Her PADD sits in-front of her, a practice test half filled out and beeping for her attention.

"You're the prettiest girl in Starfleet." Stiles replies dutifully as he shovels a second helping of kalo root into his mouth, "And I bet no one will be brave enough to get close enough to you to notice any of those grey hairs you've got coming in."

Lydia doesn't bother to dignify the second half, turning instead to study Stiles' face. "You're not just saying that, are you?"

Stiles rolls his eyes, "Please, I'd buy you a ring right now if I didn't think you'd make me eat it." He pauses, wincing, "_again._"

She smirks, tossing her hair artfully over her shoulder. "I'm like a temporal rift, Stiles, I can't be tied down and I'll destroy anyone who tries to control me."

"Too bad the jeweler didn't think _that_ counted as a valid excuse for returning an unused ring for a full refund."

"It was a _Bajoran _cut," Lydia says primly, "there's no one in this universe worth wearing that disaster of a ring for. Even Bajorans hate Bajoran cuts."

Stiles snags a piece of her redspice chicken, popping it into his mouth with a shrug. "Temporal rifts are always the hardest rifts to shop for."


	5. Chapter 5

They spend three weeks discussing the pros and cons of every focus track nonstop. Stiles stresses over following in his father’s footsteps versus doing what he loves while Lydia rules out both security and engineering because the gold uniforms clash with her complexion. She then swears Stiles to secrecy on her reasoning.

In the end, Lydia takes her six blue uniforms, skant, combadge, and four Science patches and Stiles gets his requisite gold uniforms, skant, combadge, and four Engineering patches from. They both shove their skants to the bottom of their piles while Lydia insists loudly and at length as they pass the other cadets in line that she won't wear it simply because she doesn't like the cut of the skant, _not_ because she can't pull it off.

"Do I have the legs for it, you think?" Stiles asks sticking out one leg to examine.

Lydia looks him over critically, "Maybe. But they're not as nice as my legs."

"Obviously," Stiles says with a dramatic flair that earns him an elbow to his ribs as they exit the doors and make their way out into the quad. Lydia stills, head turned up to the sky and Stiles follows in suit squinting upwards.

"_Ex Astris, Scientia,_" She murmurs, studying the stars that are showing in the early twilight.

It's been four years and Stiles thinks that this may be the first time that both of them are finally comfortable in the bubble of space that surrounds them.

+

"At ease," Professor Dahnim's voice echoes the moment she enters the door.

Stiles joins all the other cadets in their new perfectly pressed gold shirts scramble for their seats. Everyone in the lecture hall seems to be sitting up straighter. It's the sharpest any of them have probably looked since their first year.

"I'm supposed to coddle you all," Professor Dahnim says as lays her briefcase onto the podium. "To tell you you're the best and brightest so that not a single one of you switches majors. Starfleet wants me to do this not because it's true but because they need each and every one of you. We're a peacekeeping operation but you're going to discover pretty quickly that peace is often only a result of conflict."

With a click the holo projector pulls up an array of ships in the fleet, highlighting three sections. "These are three main sections of the ship that are targeted with weapons in battle. 90% of all on-ship engineers will be working in those sections." She clicks her remote and a pull-apart spec map for various phase weapons replace the ships. "If you're security, you're the people who will be dealing with hostile races and you'll be the ones protecting the crew anytime one of their faux pas ends with all-out war with new species."

Another click powers down the holo projector as the anxious shuffle of the hall dies, several faces glancing around nervously as Dahnim looks them all over. The dusting of grey hairs at her temples making her seem regal even with the twisted waxy skin along the left side that spells out _slave_ in Klingonese.

"As you can imagine, no other division comes close to meeting the kidnaping, torture, or casualty rates we experience," Professor Dahnim walks out from the podium to stand with her hands clasped behind her back. "If you make it to graduation you're the people who are going to keep our ships running and our people safe, and you're going to do it without thanks. If you can handle that, welcome to Operations," she says solemnly, "and try not to die."

+

The classes for operations division are of course located at the furthest point from the sciences division as possible. At any given moment there is a sea of red uniforms and acres and acres of campus between Lydia and Stiles. By necessity, they both attempt to branch out their social circles after discovering the hard way that a twenty minute hike to meet each other halfway eats up too much time in between classes to do more than hastily exchange insults in High Orion before starting their trek back to their own division's stomping ground.

"I don't miss you," Lydia coms to tell him two months in their new classes.

Stiles snorts, pushing his way through a crowd of tactical majors, "Of course you don't, I'm sure your minions of the week are bowing to your every whim. Tell me, has anyone offered to make you the Queen of their planet this week?"

"Ugh, that's the problem," she grouses. "They're all so _spineless_."

"Hey, at least you're surrounded by people who actually appreciate you. Operations is like a playground for jocks with violent tendencies and I'm pretty sure communications is actually some kind of cult." Stiles pauses at the edge of a large group of tactical students who have zero intention of stopping their horseplay that's blocking the door to the class Stiles _really_ needs to be inside before his professor arrives. "And the tactical and security cadets have _no_ appreciation for the people who actually keep their toys working."

"Aww, did the security cadets take your lunch creds again?" Lydia coos.

Stiles rolls his eyes, "Why are we friends, again?"

"Who said we're friends? Give me _names_, Stilinski, I refuse to allow such slander against my good name go unpunished."

+

Lydia's name is splashed all over the news vids when her mother's ship is destroyed in an skirmish in orbit over Cardassia 6. Lydia doesn't talk about it and Stiles doesn't try to make her. There will be enough other people giving her their deepest regards, enough strangers telling her how brave her mother was, and endless instructors explaining how her mother died a hero. Stiles focuses instead on hunting down Lydia's favorite holovids before throwing a few of the ones he loves and she hates into the mix so they can both pretend he isn't worried about her.

+

"Have you ever been to Mars?" Lydia asks, appearing out of thin air the moment Stiles steps foot out of his Quantum Chem class. He's pretty sure she should be in some type of zoology class right now.

Stiles blinks twice, "Um, yes? You were there too? We were there for the war games portion of the academy evaluations . Remember? There was lots of running and emasculation for the males of the binary sexed species when you-"

"_Stiles,_" Lydia rolls her eyes, "I'm not talking about the dessert, I'm talking about actual _civilization_. I'm talking highly acclaimed museums and the best opera houses in this quadrant." She doesn't give him a chance to answer, already waving whatever he was going to say about opera away. "Shut up and pack a bag. Daddy's feeling guilty about missing the funeral and sent his more than his normal neglectful father allowance to my account, so you and I are going to be spend it at the nicest resort credits can buy."

+

The nicest resort on Mars costs more than Stiles really wants to think about and offers a list of amenities that's longer than the Academy's rules and regs. Ironically, Stiles notes that some of the amenities are actually _against_ the rules and regs. It doesn't matter though, they both end up staying under the sheets in the Klingon sized bed that Lydia had specifically requested.

They remember the scans and hypos this time. Stiles considers it personal growth.

+

"Do we have to talk about this?" Lydia says with her head leaning lazily on Stiles' shoulder. Around them the shuttle hums with the sounds of other tourists conversations and the inertial dampeners.

"Nope," Stiles assures her with a chaste kiss to her cheek. A year ago they would have needed too, but not so much anymore.

They've always been complicated people - too well connected, too smart for their own good, and far _far_ too lonely. It only makes sense that between their fuckups they've become family, friends, and even lovers when no one else around is qualified enough to fill the role.


	6. Chapter 6

For a week straight after their impromptu vacation to Mars Stiles' lizard brain acts up. At first he thinks it's stress from missing so many classes but when his dreams start to fill with angry songs and he finds himself jumping at shadows he wonders if maybe more. It's that wondering too much and not paying attention that leads to him spilling his Vulcan Latte all over Lydia.

"You are _dead_ to me," she hisses, pulling her ruined shirt away from her body in vain.

"I'm sorry, _shit_, I'm just-"

"Requisitioning me a new uniform with _your_ credits? Yes, I'm _aware_." She frowns over at him, a hint of concern creeping into her eyes as she looks him over. "Seriously though, what's with you?"

Stiles sighs, rubbing at the back of his head, "I wish I knew."

+

_I'm being followed_ Stiles sends the SMS as discreetly as possible, doing his best to melt into the side of the transport shuttle as he does it. It's rather difficult what with his bright gold shirt and there only being him and his stalker inside the shuttle.

His PADD buzzes back quicker than he expected with _Why do I care?_ popping up in Lydia's overly precise scrawl.

_You'll be sorry when I'm dead because some my stalker decided to kill me and only Greenberg is left to comfort you,_ he writes back before glancing up hesitantly to find that the man in question has at some point has moved from seven seats away from to only four seats away. He smiles over at Stiles, too wide and too toothy to look even _remotely_ sane.

After an awkward moment of eye contact his PADD buzzes, grabbing Stiles' attention back as Lydia replies, _Since when do you know any Romulans?_

_I don't_ Stiles underlines this four times for emphasis. Then he draws a crude urn that he labels 'Stiles' before drawing a weeping stick figure labeled 'Lydia'.

"Why is it that the youths of Earth can never seem to stop texting each other?" Comes an amused voice to Stiles' left.

Stiles jumps, clutching his PADD to his chest. His stalker smiles calmly at him, like he hadn't just slipped into the vacant seat next to Stiles after following him all over campus. Possibly for weeks if Stiles' jumpiness wasn't the result of stress like Lydia had suggested. Stiles' PADD buzzes again but he ignores in favor of asking a pertinent question.

"What the _fuck?_" He's ignored while his PADD is plucked from his hand with inhuman strength. Fucking _Romulans_.

"Hmm, today’s the first time I've let you see me and it looks like you didn't tell your friend that I was Romulan," the man muses aloud as he scrolls through Stiles' chat log, "I'm guessing they've tapped into this shuttle's vid system. That would violate _several_ of those pesky rules that you bright young things are supposed to be following, wouldn't it?"

"So would _stalking_," Stiles points out, because _really._ His PADD buzzes again, causing his stalker to chortle when he opens the SMS.

"Oh, I _like_ her," he turns Stiles' PADD so he can see Lydia's writing.

_Touch him and I'll violate more than just the rules._

He knows it isn't the time, but Stiles takes a moment to bask in the glory of being worthy of one of Lydia's never empty threats. The shuttle's AI announces its next stop, pulling to a halt just as Stiles' PADD is returned to him with a wink that isn't comforting in the least.

"I'm beginning to think that there is no such thing as a boring Stilinski," is all Stiles' gets before his stalker stands and exits the shuttle.

+

Lydia is waiting in his room when he gets there, Stiles' new roommate already in his traditional 'cowering in his corner of the room until Lydia goes away' pose.

"We talked about scaring Greenberg," Stiles admonishes, still feeling numb from his encounter on the shuttle. "His people are a gentle race, they aren't used to terrifying human women like you."

Lydia ignores him, her focus glued onto the screen of her PADD. "If our security is to be believed there are currently seventeen Romulans who have access to Starfleet's campus - six are women, four men who are too old, and three who are too young." She hands him her PADD, three photos already up and waiting for his inspection. "The shuttle's CCTV was at the wrong angle for me to do much more than narrow it dow-"

"Him," Stiles says, already fixated the third photo. He double taps the picture pulling up way more information that Lydia's PADD should legally have access too. A familiar name catches his attention almost immediately. "Mother_fucker_."

"Huh," Lydia says with a furrowed brow, "I wasn't expecting that."

+

His father's yeoman takes the message, promising to pass on word to the Captain as soon as possible. Stiles knows better than to hold his breath.

"Grab your bag," Lydia commands Stiles from where she's still gleefully towering over Greenberg. "We're studying at my place and I will disown you if you can't make me understand the nuances of Iridian law by the time our food is delivered."

Stiles doesn't bother with the thanks for the distraction that Lydia would deny trying to offer, he simply grabs his bags and pats Greenberg awkwardly on the shoulder in apology as he follows Lydia out.

Greenberg's mournful warble follows them down the hall.

+

"Look," His dad looks more exhausted than Stiles remembers seeing him since- "there are things happening right now, things that you don't need to worry about, but all that matters is that Peter was checking up on you on _my_ orders. I would have warned you, but I didn't think he'd be quite as… _obvious_."

Stiles snorts, "By obvious, did you mean _deranged_? I thought he was going to drag me away and do terrible things to me where no one could hear me scream!"

A complicated series of emotions go across John's face before settling on incredulous. "Look, first of all you need to stop watching those horror vids. Second of all Peter is many things, but I'd trust hi-" he's interrupted as a yeoman enters Stiles' vid screen, whispering something to his father as she hands him a PADD. John curses. "Stiles, something has come up. Can we finish this la-"

"Later," Stiles finishes for him with a smile he hopes looks genuine. "Sure, Dad."

+

They don't finish it later because the USS Beacon leaves spacedock that afternoon on a radio silent mission.

"It's not an easy job," Lydia tells him as they both stare up into the night sky. "The Federation only has so many ships and there's always work for them out there. They're protecting us."

It's an excuse that Stiles knows by heart, one given to him by nannies, yeomen, and even his teachers over the years. He wonders how many times Lydia has heard that excuse what with both her parents having captained ships.

"We'll know all about it soon enough," she says as she links her arm with his.

+

Graduation comes and goes in the way that most major life events manage to do in real life - with lots nervous laughter, terrible sleep patterns, and excessive drinking.

Lydia is the only one in their graduation class that doesn't look hungover during the ceremony.

+

They both get posted to the USS Kanima by sheer luck and only a little bit of Lydia batting her eyes and showing off her ears for the Andorian in charge of deployment.

"This is where it changes," she proclaims as they pack up his room. "We're not going to be the Martian kid and the Stilinski kid - we're going to be two nameless faceless crewmen in a sea of nobodies that have to earn their way." Lydia sounds borderline giddy as she speaks, "Whatever is said about us from here on out is going to be said because of _our_ actions."

"Yay," Stiles deadpans throwing another stack of PADDs into the regulation bag that's becoming more and more obvious is way too small to fit everything Stiles wants to take.

"Just wait, it's going to be amazing," Lydia promises, ignoring him as she smiles toothily over at Greenberg whose bag is already packed and sitting next to him. "I'm going to _own_ this quadrant and everyone in it by the time I'm done."

In the corner of Stiles' room Greenberg starts emitting a high pitched whine as he rocks back and forth.

+

The Kanima isn't the newest ship in the fleet, in fact she's easily one of the oldest, but she's a good ship. On top of being the fastest thing Stiles has ever stepped foot on there's the bonus of Lydia bunking down only three doors away from him. Even better- the replicators were recently upgraded to include both Vulcan and Deltan cuisine and the engineers Stiles will be working with seem nice enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Was previously posted, then taken down. Now it's back up. Beware the errors and typos, I suspect the files I found on my old hard drive are the pre-beta versions.  
Please don't steal any of my silly stories and change some names around and then try to sell them as books on Amazon or I'm gonna have to take everything down again.


End file.
